What comes around, goes around
by Allied Hero
Summary: Sergeant Troy finds a way to repay a profound debt.


_Rata-tata-tata-tata-tata-tata._

The guns are back again. Those lethal 50 calibre machine guns that have claimed the lives of so many of my men. It's impossible to tell which way the Jeeps are coming from until it's too late. By then, I can already hear the cries of agony as the bullets begin to hit their targets.

One by one, each man clutches a different part of their body as the bullets continue to fly past. It never ceases to amaze me how many times I've become the sole survivor of these ambushes. Perhaps Sergeant Moffitt's seemingly endless supply of lives has gradually begun to have an effect on me. If I didn't know any better, I would think they weren't aiming for me at all.

Though my men continue to fire back, the four attackers never receive so much as a scratch. Sometimes I wonder whether they truly are invincible; but then I remember that one fateful day in which their group was temporarily reduced to three, and I know that they must simply possess an abundant amount of luck.

_Oomph._

Perhaps they were aiming for me after all.

I sink down into the relative safety of the driver's compartment of the vehicle as I clutch my right shoulder. The pain is excruciating, though it's nothing I haven't experienced before. Compared to the rest of my men who are having their insides turned out, I should consider myself lucky.

However, lucky or not, this doesn't change the fact that the mobility of one of my arms has once again been rendered useless. I peer out the review mirror just in time to see yet another supply truck being blown up as a bullet hits the petrol tank. I wonder if the driver made it out alright, although I doubt it. He would have likely been blown to pieces with the rest of the truck upon impact.

I continue to watch the chaos unfold behind me, when I realise I can no longer see the second Jeep. That can only mean one thing.

_Kaboom._

The first grenade explodes directly behind me, causing the vehicle to burst into flames and no doubt sealing the fates of its occupants. I look towards my driver who has so far been lucky to escape injury, and give him the signal to abandon the vehicle. We both make the harrowing jump, just as the vehicle takes a direct hit.

I land on the ground with a thud, cringing as the pain in my shoulder intensifies. Clutching my right arm, I try to seek assistance from my driver, only to see him slumped over on the ground with a bullet wound in his abdomen. How that even came about, I have no idea. Regardless, I can't locate any other men who may have survived amongst the chaos.

The explosions stop a few minutes later, and all that remains of the convoy is the sound and smell of burning material and flesh. An event I had witnessed far too many times, and one I wish I would never have to see again. However, so long as the Rat Patrol are still operating, I can only expect to see a repeat of this scene many more times in the future.

_Vroom._

The two Jeeps speed away once again, leaving behind the death and destruction they've unleashed. I sometimes wonder what goes through their minds before an ambush such as this one. Do they ever think about the lives they are ending, or the pain and suffering they are making these men endure? Or do they simply follow orders and do as they're told?

As the sound of engines fade into the distance, I slowly rise to my feet and wonder around to inspect the damage. As I suspected, none of the other men survived the attack. Vehicles are burning, bodies are strewn all over the sand. This is the reason why I avoid communicating with my men more than I need to. Forming bonds with them would only make scenes like this harder to bear than they already are.

I slowly walk towards one of the vehicles which had turned on its side, having already burnt out. Although the vehicle itself is giving off heat of its own, it's better than standing in the direct line of the sun. Now begins the long wait for my other men to arrive and pick me up once again.

_Tuk-tuk-tuk_.

The sound of an engine is approaching, and not a moment too soon. Although I can't see the vehicle from my position, I can only assume it's a German one. There are no other enemy soldiers in this area as far as I'm aware, and I already saw the Rat Patrol leave.

I continue to lie on the ground clutching my shoulder, as if I were willing the pain to disappear. I can hear voices, although the flames which continue to burn hinder my ability to hear what the men are saying. All of a sudden, a voice calls out directly behind the vehicle I'm taking cover under.

"Hey Sarge, I think there's a guy that's still alive down here!"

I freeze, momentarily forgetting what my instinct response should be. By the time I reach for my Luger, Private Hitchcock is already around my side of the truck pointing his machine gun at me. He looks both shocked and amused at the same time, though I can't imagine why. Perhaps it's the irony of it all.

"I wouldn't bother with that thing, Captain," he said, gesturing to my Luger. "You're injured and outnumbered."

"And whose fault is that?" I countered, though I reluctantly pull my hand away from the holster.

The unmistakable voice of Sergeant Troy is gradually getting closer, and I can only imagine he's bringing the rest of the group with him. My prediction proves right, as he along with Sergeant Moffitt and Private Pettigrew appear from behind the truck.

In contrast to Hitchcock's reaction, Sergeant Troy appears to be slightly agitated. Not at me for a change, but his own men. I'm not sure why, but it appears as though he's trying to send a silent apology; not that it's going to undo the damage they've done.

"Hitch, Tully, get the medical kit out of the Jeeps," he said. The two men appear reluctant at first, but carry out the orders. He walks closer towards me, extending his hand. "Hand it over, Captain."

I sigh, knowing it isn't any use. It's four against one, and as Private Hitchcock said, I'm injured and outnumbered. I slowly remove my Luger and hand it over to Sergeant Troy, who I'm surprised to see takes it and throws it on the ground behind him. As Hitchcock and Pettigrew return with the medical kit, he does something even more out of the ordinary.

"Throw down your weapons, fellas," he said, casually. The order is met with the blank stares of his men. Apparently I'm not the only one who's surprised to hear such an odd command from the American. "I said throw them down!"

Reluctantly, their machine guns join my Luger on the ground behind them. The Sergeant turns his attention towards me again, taking the medical kit from Private Pettigrew and opening my shirt slightly to inspect the wound. I flinch, not being used to this kind of contact from the enemy.

"Do you want this thing fixed or not, Dietrich?" Troy said bluntly. I decide to let him continue with extracting the bullet, which, now that I can see, didn't penetrate the skin completely.

I look towards the other three men, who appear to be just as confused as I am. As far as I'm aware, the Sergeant isn't gaining anything personally from this. I decide to ask the question on everyone's mind.

"Sergeant, if I may ask, why are you helping me? My men are sure to come looking for me regardless."

His eyes widen, and he turns towards his men again. "Men, grab your weapons. Moffitt, Tully, get on the Jeep. Hitch, keep a look out. You know what to do."

The men nod and race to retrieve their weapons, which it appears couldn't have been to soon for them. Within moments, they disappear to complete their assigned tasks.

"You still haven't answered my question, Sergeant," I said, pressing him on the matter.

He sighs. "Let's just say I owe you one."

I look at him, still confused. "What could I possibly 'owe you one' for?"

"Saving Moffitt's life," he said, now having extracted the bullet.

I sigh this time. "Care to elaborate, Sergeant?"

"A few weeks ago when that Typhus epidemic broke out, you took Moffitt prisoner to trade with that nutty SS Captain," he said, now cleaning the wound. "When we got there and started shooting, we didn't see the Captain behind the truck with Moffitt and Miss Arno until after the shooting had stopped. Moffitt told us what happened. Since none of us shot him, it had to be you Dietrich."

The memory of all those events comes flooding back, and I suddenly begin to feel sick. The last thing I need is the Sergeant blackmailing me with that information. If my superiors found out, I'd be shot as a traitor without a trial.

I look at him blankly. "You can't prove I did that."

"Relax, Dietrich. I'm thanking you for it, not using it against you," he said calmly, now wrapping a bandage around my shoulder. He places the tools he was using back into the box, assessing his handiwork. Suddenly, Private Hitchcock calls out.

"Hey Sarge, Germans on the way! Can't be more than two miles!"

Sergeant Troy stands up, nodding his head. "Alright, let's shake it!"

"And how am I supposed to repay you for this Sergeant?" I ask, stopping him quickly.

He looks at me, a small smile appearing on his face. "Don't worry about it...let's just say this is your champagne."


End file.
